


Frog song and marshmallows

by Judin



Category: DCU (Animated), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Camping, First Time, M/M, Skinny Dipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-21 04:10:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2454257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Judin/pseuds/Judin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After their fight against the Psycho-Pirate, the League goes camping. Bruce can't believe he agreed to this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frog song and marshmallows

**Author's Note:**

> This is a coda to Justice League Adventures nr. 20: "Prisoners of the Psycho-Pirate", in which the League faces a new supervillain who can access and manipulate their emotions. He turns them against each other and they all say some hurtful things. Afterwards, J'onn drags them all out on a camping trip to bond. I took things from there.
> 
> I like this issue, but I can't help but think it was written by someone unfamiliar with the show. It has to take place pre-Starcrossed, since Shayera has her mask on, but then how can the League go camping in their civilian identities? I also think some of the insults thrown around are a bit off, like Batman accusing Superman of having a crush on Wonder Woman. There is zero basis for that in the show; how can Bruce be so wrong? So of course I had to try to fix that, cause I can never just write porn. It didn't even turn into proper porn.
> 
> The skinny dipping idea is based on [**this anonymous prompt**](http://bisexualclarkkent.tumblr.com/post/99859018378/so-that-comic-thing-where-the-justice-league-went), though I was not the one who received it.
> 
> Long backstory aside, enjoy the fic.

Bruce couldn't sleep. J'onn was snoring, though thankfully not as loudly as the three lumberjacks who slept in the big tent just a few metres away, and in the occasional interval between those noises, soft voices could be heard from the women's tent on Bruce and J'onn's other side. Add to that the cicadas and the frogs, and the big city began to seem quiet by comparison.

Why did anyone ever voluntarily go camping? Cooking was a pain, the mosquitoes were a _pain_ and sleeping on the damp, raw, hard ground was worst of all. He had contemplated calling Alfred to make him send the jet, he had even had his finger on the dial button at one point, but Diana had caught him and given him a look that said she was disappointed but not surprised, and that last bit had made him grit his teeth and stay.

It had, admittedly, not been that bad after the awkward and acidic first stage had been exhausted, when the tents were up and the fire burning, and they'd had a chance to settle down and let the peaceful forest soothe their wounded prides.

Shayera had said something that made everyone laugh, John had told a good story, and Wally had shared his backpack full of marshmallows. 

And Clark had ... Clark had ... been Clark? Listening with all his being when the others spoke, enjoying the marshmallows like he was seven and they were the most amazing thing ever, and then getting into a surprisingly intelligent discussion with J'onn on some topic that Bruce could hardly recall because he had been distracted wondering to himself why it always surprised him just how smart Clark was. He knew how smart Clark was; the man was an award-winning investigative journalist, had an almost eidetic memory and spoke as many language as Bruce.

Maybe it wasn't surprise so much as pleasure, Bruce admitted to himself there in the half-light inside the tent, bruised and uncomfortable on his inadequate mattress. Wasn't it just that Clark being Clark, naivety and intelligence, authority and humility and all, was usually enough to make Bruce feel lighter somehow, a little brighter somewhere deep inside?

This was unbearable. Being a master of stealth, Bruce still had trouble getting out of the damn sleeping bag without kicking J'onn in the face, possibly because he kind of wanted to, just to see if it would make the noise stop, but he finally wiggled free and escaped into the wild like a newly hatched butterfly, with his shorts and boots in hand.

The air was warm, the last embers of their camp fire smouldered in their circle of stones. Bruce pulled on his clothes and went for a walk.

They'd said some things on that day that he wished he could take back. He wasn't sure if he agreed with J'onn that it had all come from actual buried resentment. Kissing Diana had been an impulse of his own definitely, as had punching Wally, probably, and Bruce had every intention of apologising to both of them at the first opportunity. As soon as he had built up his courage. But what he had said to Clark felt, in retrospect, somewhat off the mark.

Excluding Wally for his youth and Shayera for her temper, all the members of the League had what it took to command the team on a mission, but Bruce was pretty sure they all agreed that if the Justice League had one leader, it was Superman. He was their centre, their compass needle: always on the path to true north. Bruce just ... felt more secure when he himself was the tactical officer. Clark was emotional; too caring to use his colleagues like chess pieces in battle the way he ought to when they had a job to do.

He had been walking for no more than twenty minutes when he saw silver glittering beyond the trees. Leaving the path, he soon found himself on the edge of a large, still lake. The moon was nearly full, and was reflected in the water along with all the stars.

Alright, fine, you didn't see sights like this in Gotham. The puddles in her streets were too oily for that, her mighty river running black even in daylight.

Bruce crouched down on the bank and dipped his fingers in to test the temperature. A little chilly, but the brisk walk had left him warm; he wouldn't mind a swim. They'd probably all come here tomorrow, but the likelihood of having a quiet swim with Wally around seemed slim. More likely it would be a full on dunking war, which Bruce would be lucky to get out of alive competing against three aliens, two superhumans and one Green Lantern.

Going back for his swimming trunks seemed unnecessary, so he merely shed his clothes, folded them, put them on top of his shoes to keep them from the damp, and waded into the-alright that was a little colder than-agh!-he had expected. He gritted his teeth and walked on.

There had been that other comment too, the one Bruce believed to really disprove J'onn's theory. Bruce liked Diana quite a lot. He thought she liked him too. But nothing would ever come of it, the same way none of his relationships ever moved beyond the casual or the occasional. Clark on the other hand did not like Diana like that. Bruce was pretty sure of this too. So why had Bruce, under Hayden's influence, accused Clark of being jealous?

He let himself glide forward into the water, gasping through his teeth at the sudden chill, but forcing himself into smooth, even strokes forward, ducking under once he stopped shivering. It was quiet below the surface; no cicadas played here, and the frogs were silent.

Hayden had had access to all their emotions, but chosen to bring out the negative ones, making them fight, making them resent each other. Did Bruce resent Clark? No, of course not.

He broke the surface to breathe, dragged his hair out of his eyes and turned over on his back, floating in the middle of the lake with the moon above him.

Negative emotions. Anger, hatred, jealousy, pride ... sorrow, shame and frustration.

 _Don't look at me like that_ , he thought to the pale face smiling down at him. _Like you understand._

A twig snapped, making Bruce right himself with a splash.

Clark stood on the bank where Bruce had gone in. He was wide-eyed.

"Sorry," he said, trying to whisper and shout at the same time. "Sorry I startled you."

Bruce rolled his eyes and swam back to the shallows. "No harm done."

"You're not sleeping," Clark said, and Bruce was reminded why he was usually surprised when the man proved to be intelligent.

"Guess I'm a night owl," he replied, aware that he could be a little more friendly, but between being naked in the water and unable to reach his clothes without going past Clark, he thought he was allowed to be a little defensive.

"I woke up and couldn't sleep again. When I realised your heartbeat had moved, I followed your trail and ..." Clark frowned. "I sound like a stalker. Uh ... sorry."

"You've said that part already." Bruce found his footing and stood up, the water reaching his waist. He had goose bumps all along his arms and down his chest and it was because it was cold and not because Clark could pick his heartbeat apart from five others. "Well, I haven't been kidnapped, gotten lost or drowned yet, as you can see. You can go back to sleep."

"Actually, I'm not that sleepy." Clark eyed the lake speculatively, kicking a bit of moss into the water with a plop. He was not reaching idly for the hem of his shirt. He was _not_.

"The water's quite nice," Bruce heard himself say. "It wouldn't be cold to you anyway."

Clark shrugged. "Alright. Guess I'll join you."

 _Did I just invite him to go skinny dipping with me?_ Bruce thought, vaguely horrified.

Clark turned away and pulled his t-shirt over his head, highlighting his broad back with its incredible muscles and perfect unmarred skin. He kicked off his shoes and socks, folded his shirt like Bruce had done and put it away similarly, undid his belt, grabbed the waistband of his jeans, happened to look over his shoulder and froze as he realised Bruce was staring like an oblivious moron. Slowly, Clark's face grew bright red.

Bruce felt like a frog. "I'll be out there," he croaked and swam away. He wished the cicadas could have been a little louder to drown out the sound of his own heart hammering.

He didn't peek. He kept his back resolutely turned until the appropriate amount of time had passed and then he merely turned back to see if Clark was in yet and he was ... sort of. His feet were in, ankles too, calves rapidly disappearing along with his knees, which was a shame because he looked no less like a Greek sculptor's wet dream in moonlight than he did in sunlight and how had he managed to hide _that_ in those red trunks of his and Bruce was having a revelation that wasn't really a revelation because he was too smart not to be aware of something like this in himself but he had never been quite so insistently aware and he ought to be looking away because Clark probably didn't appreciate being ogled like this.

Except Clark just turned faintly pink again and kept walking steadily towards him, until he too sank forward and swam, while Bruce trod the water, waiting for him.

"It's nice," Clark said when he arrived.

"Yeah," Bruce agreed.

"Want to swim across?"

"Yeah."

So they did, side by side, in silence at first, pretty damn awkward, and Bruce was getting really cold but right now that was a good thing.

"I'm glad we came here," Clark said eventually. "I don't do this kind of thing often enough."

"I never do this kind of thing," Bruce deadpanned. "And our brief stay so far has ticked off all the boxes why."

It was Clark's turn to roll his eyes.

"On the other hand," Bruce continued. "I've also seen a few benefits."

"Have you?" Clark asked and suddenly it got _dirty_ , unlike anything Bruce had thought Clark capable of.

So he didn't reply. That seemed safest.

They eventually reached the other bank and could stand again. Clark looked back.

"It was farther than I thought."

"Y-ye-ah," Bruce stuttered, surprised to hear his teeth chattering as soon as he opened his mouth.

Clark turned back to him. "Bruce!" Thoughtlessly, he grabbed Bruce's shoulder, his hand a shock of heat against Bruce's icy skin. "You should have said something."

Bruce twisted away. "I'm fine." He turned back and began to wade towards the deep again. "We should return to camp." They weren't frat boys drunk on moonlight and cheap booze; he wasn't going to mess up one of his few friendships over some-

Clark's hand was warm and deliberate on his back, broad palm covering Bruce's left shoulder blade. Bruce stopped dead.

"I bruised you," Clark murmured, fingers tracing the sore patch that Bruce knew to be purpling black and blue. "When I threw you into that theatre billboard."

"I d-deserved it," Bruce said shakily.

Clark fanned his fingers out, five points of heat seeping into tense muscles and aching bones.

"No, you didn't."

Clark stepped closer, until they were almost touching, until Bruce could feel the warmth radiating from all of him.

"I don't have a crush on Diana," Clark said.

"I know," Bruce replied.

The hand slid down to Bruce's waist, joined there by Clark's other hand, holding his hips; a comfortable, pleasurable, unbearable touch.

"I wondered why you accused me of that. You're too smart to have misjudged me so badly."

"Yes." Bruce closed his eyes.

"I really am very sorry about this," Clark said, leaning in and brushing his lips over the bruised shoulder. "And this." On the back of his neck this time, another tender spot.

Bruce shook. "Clark."

"Let me fly us back to the other bank. You're too cold."

"I'm naked," Bruce mumbled. "You're naked."

"I know," Clark said, with promise.

Bruce turned around, dragged Clark in and kissed him hard. Their bodies touched from chest to thighs and it felt like fireworks across Bruce's skin. Clark's arms came around him and the contrast to the water that still slipped cold fingers around his thighs made him shudder.

But Clark's mouth was hottest of all. Wet, silky, smiling. The last characteristic was rapidly getting in the way of their kissing.

Bruce broke away to scowl. "What is it now?"

"I just love camping," Clark said. He was grinning giddily.

"Shut up," Bruce mumbled. "Get us out of the water before I freeze my balls off."

"That would be a tragedy. I can warm them if you'd like."

They floated up and out across the lake.

It was a good thing none of the other Leaguers went walking that night, because if they did they might have followed that same path, and seen the two that drifted, closely entwined, in the moonlight above the water, and they might have heard, behind the wall of sound from the frogs and the cicadas, voices lost in moans and panted apologies, demands and endearments, and finally in shouts of pleasure.

By Sunday afternoon, everyone agreed that the trip had been a great success.

As they prepared for the hike down to the parking lot, Wally turned back and looked wistfully at the path winding in between the trees. "We've gotta come back to that lake some day. That was fun."

"I agree," Bruce said, to everyone's surprise. He looked around at them. "What?" he asked, smiling. "A cold swim can really change your outlook on things."

Clark had to bend over and retie his laces then, but his red ear tips betrayed him.


End file.
